


Danse Macabre

by bettysugars_writes



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysugars_writes/pseuds/bettysugars_writes
Summary: how betty and jughead made up after the black hood spilt them apart
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Danse Macabre

My couch looks inviting.

But I can’t stop pacing.

Pacing, a vaccine for confusion. 

I try to vanquish the abhorrent thoughts that eat away my brain. The way they’ve been numbing it the past few days. What I’m going through is heartbreak. For the first time in my life, I’m experiencing heartbreak. The shattering of my viable lifeline, but not in such a way that I fall fatally, but rather mentally. Albeit my learning to keep up the walls I’ve spent my life building, a precise formula can tear them right down.   
My doorbell rings and I, frustrated, kick at the edge of the couch. It’s probably Sheriff Keller, here to arrest me for participating in the Street Race. The entire day felt like a hazy dream, like a fog entanglement in my head. Any conscious decisions obscured the mirrored cloud of my mind. I prepare myself for the breach of solitary I’m about to receive. 

I open my door, expecting to see the Sheriff’s murky grey eyes that always prison a bit of sadness, the bleak frown on his face, like winter came early, and handcuffs. Fit for capturing my guilty wrists.

But instead it’s Betty.

“Hey.” She says.  
I huff. She swallows.  
“Can I come in?” She asks, daintily but I can hear a bit of bitterness subsequently.  
“Sure.” I don’t have the effort to turn her away right now. It’s not like she’s staying long. She probably just wants to make sure that I’m okay after the race. Then she’ll leave me alone, not gifting the explanation she promised to. I sprawl out on the couch and try to aide my tired legs. She timidly walks in and scans the living room slowly.

“Not sure how I feel about the wallpaper color in here,” she says, and follows up with a light laugh. “Maybe It’s time that we change it.”  
“Stop beating around the goddamn bush, Betty.” I snap.  
She pauses. “You know, I was thinking the same thing on the night of the Jubilee.”

Before or after I slammed her into a cabinet while ripping off her clothes?

“What, when you lied and said you loved me?” I say, my voice rough, like the hard, scratchy edge of a broken record.  
“I...wasn’t lying.” Betty says in cracked syllables.  
“I don’t have time for this,” I demand, getting to my feet. “I’m really busy, and I need to write about all of this Sugarman shit.”  
“Jug, I wasn’t lying!” She raises her voice, highlighting her effrontery to explain. Her eyes glisten with the tears that line her lashes.  
“Then,” I take a step closer to her. “Why did you-why did you send Archie to break up with me?”  
“He wasn’t supposed to be that harsh.” She closes the gap between us and puts her hands on my shoulders. Her touch, although only a reminder of the pain, is unsettlingly soothing.  
“Betty,” I whisper, looking at her hands (but not removing them) “Why?”

She blinks a few times. A tear finally succumbs to gravity and I wipe it away before it even reaches her cheek.

“You can’t tell anybody.” She whispers.  
“I won’t.” I reply, before realizing i’m being exculpatory.  
A glaze falls over her eyes. She stares at the ugly curtains above the couch behind me. The hazy, golden light sweeps through and tells me that evening is nearing.  
“I’ve been getting...phone calls...from The Black Hood.” she starts.  
“Betty? What the hell?” I try to shout, but all that comes out is a strained whisper.  
“H-he...he told me that if I didn’t cut you out of my life...he would.”  
“So he’d kill me.” I say bluntly, less appalled than I maybe should be.  
“And he did the same thing with Veronica. I can’t keep doing this anymore, Jug, because then I won’t have anyone left.” She cries.  
“Archie,” I respond coldly. “Why did you send him?”

She wipes her eyes. “Because I couldn’t break your heart like that.”  
“But you still did, Betty.” Even though my words are harsh, my consolation rises.  
“I-I-I couldn’t bear to see your face.” She sniffs, and raises her hands up to skim my jawline. Her eyes, in their semblance, trammel nothing. She’s susceptible.

For a moment I feel infuriated at Archie, for crushing me with the rubble of whatever feelings may have resurfaced for him. I let the fault drop on the Robert Hitchcock that ordered her to break my heart and embrace Betty as quick as I can physically move. I can feel her silent when tears only intensify at my delayed affection and whatever sluices from my touch. I know that she’s probably filled with relief.

She steps back to clean herself up, but before I let her go, I and press my lips to hers in a quick kiss. The corners of her mouth taste like salt, and then I feel a little less disconsolate.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit?” I ask once she’s tidied her appearance, looking like the classic Betty Cooper, only without the chunky sweater. In fact, the thin straps and plunging neckline on her camisole are no less than incredibly distracting. She walks over to the sofa gingerly, like once again unfamiliar with her surroundings because of the plight.

She clutches a book.

“Can I read?” Betty asks.

I sit down on the couch with a newfound security and open up my laptop. “Sure.”

She lays down on the couch, leaning up against my side. The corners of my mouth upturn when I relish in the feeling that I’ve desperately missed, and she giggles. Like she knows it. When she’s deep in her book and I’m probing my brain for synonyms, I take a moment to look down at her. She’s only the epitome of the fact that everyone in Riverdale wears masks. Even the Girl Next Door.

I close my laptop in a satisfactory slap and look next to me again. Impressively, she’s almost finished the novel. Her eyes are fluttering sleepily and she seems to be putting more weight on me than the couch at this point. Carefully, I run my finger on the underside of her jaw and she giggles, swatting it away.  
“What?” I ask, playfully.  
She sits up and faces me. “Why are you doing that?”  
I’m caught off guard from her verism. 

“I love you.” I whisper, and those three words feel like shards of glass on my tongue.

“I never stopped.” She matches my soft tone, as if there’s a reticence policy.

I bite my lip before curling my mouth in a smile.

She leans in to kiss me; our lips meet and she’s grinning against my mouth. I cup her cheeks and fight to not reciprocate it. She scoots forward and I shuffle back, our lips still entwined. What started out as a gentle, forgiving kiss gradually turns into one with much fervor as I’m backed up against the arm of the sofa, her nearly in my lap, and our tongues exploring each other’s mouths. It’s a feeling I’ve missed and want to experience more of. I gently nibble her lower lip and she breathlessly moans for a second before pulling on my hair. I once again battle the smile that tries to take over my entire body. I bend down to go for her collarbone, planting a light kiss on it. She closes her eyes and continues grabbing fistfuls of my hair. And just as I sweep up to her pulse point, she pulls away, letting go of what she’s been tugging on.

Why is it always the neck? I falter, a bit objected by the cessation.

“Everything okay?” I ask, breathless, because she never fails to wow me.  
“I’m tired, Juggy,” she wipes her swollen lips with the back of her hand. “And besides, I should probably go ahead back now that it’s getting darker.”

My heart beats quickly and I can’t really find the words, so instead I protest by getting up off of the couch and tugging her arm.  
“What?” She asks.  
I tug again, and this time she follows me. We go back to my room, which I don’t think she’s seen since we were kids. Not that it’s changed much. But, I flick on the lamp next to the right side and peel back the covers to invite her in.

“Oh, I can’t.” Betty bites her thumbnail, probably searching for a believable reason we can’t sleep in the same bed tonight.   
“Please?” I ask, because I think it’s call I can say.  
“I don’t have pajamas.”  
This would be viable if I didn’t have an extra t-shirt she could wear. I reach into one of my drawers and pull out a dusty violet ‘S’ t-shirt and hold it up to her.  
She sighs. “As long as we just go to sleep. Nothing else.”

I turn away as she strips down. When I’m given the okay, I face her and see her folding her clothes neatly as to not imply anything. I look at her.

Her hair is down. She’s only wearing underwear and my shirt, which I found awkwardly cute. My cheeks redden as I think of my immense anger when we interrupted that one night. How I was kissing her neck and only seconds away from releasing the entirety of her chest. But, moment’s passed and for some reason, it feels impossible to do now. 

I change into my pajamas but tie in a white undershirt instead of going bare-chested, because she’s hindering about something. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s not, but my soul aches to comfort her.

I feel her eyes scan me, only quickly, before kissing my cheek.   
“Goodnight, Jug.” She whispers.  
“Goodnight, Betts.” I reply, and I hold her close to me as she drifts off. My heart beats rapidly into her back and I plead she can’t feel it, somehow. 

Surely she knows how insane she drives me.

And I fall asleep to the lazy patterns she etches into my hand.

My fan circulates a white noise and a spray of sunlight around my room. Against me, Betty is fast asleep and curled up in my sheets. Her hair is splayed in a way where there’s a small strip of skin on her neck between her jaw and the cuff of the shirt. I bend down slightly and kiss her neck, and she sighs,as if waiting for the feel of my lips all her life.

She follows with a roll over.

“Hey.” I mumble, my voice sounding husky.  
“Hey.” Betty replies.

She reaches up to caress my cheek and I catch it, pressing it against my lips. She smiles in a way that makes me believe she knows what I’m thinking.

_fin


End file.
